Falling Forward
by Villis
Summary: Dark vision of the boys after the war. One shot. Heero reflects on the things he loves most. Fixed.


It wasn't that he liked the pain, Heero reflected idly as Duo rutted and moaned above him. It was a tiring thing, pain. Some days he felt thin as ashes, waiting to splinter pieces at the lightest touch. He'd keep still and silent then, huddled in dark places, terrified of breaking. Breaking would mean letting the agony out to touch the wider, frail world and it seemed clear what the consequences would be. The hurt he kept inside was a dark and violent thing, an angry thing, and peace could not stand against it. He was both enemy and protector now and things that had once seemed sure were cloudy and vague, a fact that scared him more than the rage and the promises and Duo's voice in the dark. Confusion had replaced the clarity of proud and honorable youth, had raped him of the easy knowledge of predator and prey, good and bad. There was only pain and Duo and the long hours until morning, when he served as the vessel for both their monsters. When he wanted to scream, to strike, to purge himself back to purity, he had only to remember that knowledge to quell the urge. He had been strong enough once to die for peace, to fly freely into space and sacrifice without regret or hope. Now he needed to be strong enough to live for it, to keep safely contained the hot blood that spilled from the wounds that both he and his lover carried, the wounds that had never quite scarred over.

So no, it wasn't that he liked the pain. The pain was his duty, his keepsake, his sacred dance of mixed sin and holiness. And if he suspected these thoughts were only excuses, only a thin veil thrown across darker needs…what did it matter? He had no existence outside the pain and it seemed senseless to pretend otherwise. He defined himself by it, by its modes and variances. He'd never seen the world without some shadow of it twisting the picture. He was pain, or the pain was him, and without it he would be as empty as a newborn, a blank slate washed clear of dust. There was a time when he might have longed for that, days past when he had watched the civilians go about their business and marveled in quiet desperation at their smiles and shouts and relationships. But he was older now and had come to know many truths, understood better now the way of things. If the long, weary process of living had taught him anything it was the folly of faith in illusions. For all his empty misery he could not comprehend the depth of their suffering, those happy, normal people who drifted through their short time as if there was nothing to fear, no war waiting to come crashing down at the first sign of weakness. He'd shed his naivety so long ago he no longer remembered the bliss of it. It seemed such a terrible thing, to be unprepared for the sudden blow, the flash of the knife.

Peace was a pause between movements but pain…pain was the beat the universe followed.

It wasn't that he liked the pain, he thought. It was just it was so familiar.

A final breathless whimper of pleasure disturbed the otherwise quiet night and Heero arched his back a little as Duo's weight left him, trying to ease the kink that had settled as the lower spine. He lowered his legs slowly, careful of stiffened muscles, wrinkling his nose a little in distaste when his naked thighs touched the soiled mattress. He recognized the tacky warmness as new blood and knew he'd carry the thick copper odor in his pores for days, clinging as a permanent reminder of his reality to disturb those moments when he almost managed to forget.

He nodded thin gratitude when Duo handed him a bundle of fabric, relaxing a little when the old, worn tank top covered the bruising on his chest, hiding one more pitiful vulnerability beneath its bullet resistant mesh.  
  
"I'm sorry," the boy beside him said solemnly. Heero nodded.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Forgive me?"  
  
"Yes."

Duo sighed, a small whisper of sound, snuggling against his lover's side in an ironic little mockery of a closeness they hadn't truly shared in a long time. Heero stroked the unbound hair clumsily; finding himself oddly soothed by this reminder of younger, better days. There was a small, bitter twinge of sorrow and remorse but it was simply overwhelmed by the warm swell of nostalgia. The past has simply moved so far from the present that they only vaguely felt connected, the memories treasured but lifeless and distant to his mind.

"Love me?"

"Yes."


End file.
